Dream by the Shadows (Shadow Weaver Duology Book 1)

SEVEN YEARS LATER

Darkness roamed across my skin, fine as a shroud of silk. It slipped into my eyes and wrapped its inky hands around my neck. Tonight it felt relentless. Needy.

Hungry.

I breathed in, guiltily relishing the familiar pull, and breathed out, letting it tumble through the air in a silent scream. It didn’t matter that I took the elixir. They came regardless. The visions. The dreams .

A man silhouetted against a raging sea.

A flash of silver, rot, and ruin.

A wall of writhing shadow.

The pull on my skin faded, dissolving like smoke. It melted into the soft snores of my brother and the buzz of an insect under our dresser. I groaned in disgust, settling back into my pillows.

Again. I had let it—whatever it was—call to me. Again.

Pressing my palms into my eyes, I focused on their weight instead of something rising sick and deep in the pit of my stomach. I hadn’t resisted. I had let the dream coax me under, just like I had that winter seven years ago. Willingly let it twist and seduce me like a fool.

And maybe I was.

Because at this rate, I’d be found by demons and fed to their lord before sunrise.

I turned to my side, dragging my hands down my face. I should be terrified, but some dark, terrible part of me wanted to be found by the Shadow Bringer. I needed to find him, hurt him, and demand he release Eden’s soul.

But another part of me wanted to curl up into a ball and cry.

Elliot slept heavily in the bed next to mine, chest rising and falling at rhythmic intervals. His face was mostly relaxed—though an eyebrow was slightly scrunched—and the threadbare arm of Chester, his favorite stuffed cow, peeked out from underneath an elbow.

Crskkk. Crskkk.

I stilled.

A misshapen form scraped at our half-open window, clawing at the glass in jagged swipes. I jolted upright, slamming into the bed frame—

“‘smer?”

Elliot peered at me through the shadows, his brown hair a disheveled halo. He appeared small under his heap of blankets and discarded winter tunics, but he loved his ramshackle burrow. It helped him feel safe, veiled from the sight of humans and monsters alike.

I took a deep breath, attempting to erase some of my darkening thoughts. I needed to ground myself in reality, not lose myself in another fantasy. The shadow was merely a branch. A branch , for Maker’s sake.

“Sorry, Ell. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’okay.” Elliot pulled at his pile of blankets, positioning them strategically around his slim shoulders. “But now you owe me a chocolate,” he said, yawning. “Maybe even two chocolates.”

My mouth lifted into a smile. “Fine. Tomorrow then, after we do our rounds?”

Elliot returned my smile, but his attention drifted past me. His gaze lingered on our window, where a clawed branch was indeed scuffling against the glass. “Better keep that shut. I don’t want birds flying in an’ taking my eyes.”

“Now that would be a story for the tales.”

Elliot shrugged, pulling Chester to his chest.

I sat up, noticing the genuine worry in his eyes. “Elliot, why are you thinking about birds taking your eyes?”

“It wasn’t a dream, if that’s what you’re wonderin’,” he said with another shrug. “Anyways, I’m goin’ back to sleep. Busy day tomorrow. ‘Specially if chocolate is involved.”

“You sure you’re fine?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, reaching for the elixir at his nightstand. As he tilted it to his mouth, he frowned. “Hmm. Thought I had some left.”

“Here.” I handed him my vial, which still contained a dreg of amber liquid. “Just take mine. I should go check on Father anyway.”

“He’s patrolin’ again, ain’t he.”

“Isn’t he.”

“The Corrupt are gettin’ bad. You don’t think—” He paused, chewing his lip. “You don’t think that they’d actually get us?”

“No,” I said, firmly. Convincingly. “Not with Father watching.”

“Good. Father’s brave.” Elliot settled into his blankets, content. “An’ so are you.”

“Ell—”

“Just not around bugs, I guess. Fish, too. You hate fish eyes. An’ baths—”

“I do not hate baths.”

“An’ the way I speak. Ain’t nothin’ you hate more.”

Barely suppressing a retort, I pulled a sweater over my nightgown and crept downstairs to the sound of Elliot snickering. Father was sitting on the porch in his favorite rocking chair, taut and straight-backed even while dozing. The wind was strong, coaxing the chair to sway back and forth. It was a miracle the chair had lasted through the years, splintered as it was.

It bothered me, sometimes, how the most trivial objects could last for decades while the people who owned them never had the luxury. They grew sick, frail, and old, all while the object remained perpetually itself. Broken and faded, maybe, but never dead or dying.

I crossed my legs and leaned against the house, considering. Father looked exhausted. He was a cracked, overburdened vessel, leaking water when no one else was around. Maybe it was the row of torches, ringed around our property and flickering under the strength of the wind, casting the lines in his face with deep shadows.

Shadows like the markings of a Corrupt. Like Eden’s eyes—

I shook my head.

No, there was my father. Warm brown eyes were underneath his heavy lids. And though his expression was wretched and weak, he would wake with a smile, the smile he tried his best to give despite the burden of his labor and his duty as our shield. A wool blanket was fixed around his shoulders and a small elixir vial stuck out of his shirt pocket, items of care left by Mother at some point in the night. Calloused hands rested atop the crossbow in his lap, and his work boots, stained and creased, were filthy from walking the property, lighting the torches, and scrutinizing any late-night visitors.

Visitors desperate for sanctuary against Corruption.

I moved to wake him, knowing he’d be upset at sleeping so heavily, but reconsidered. I had helped him before, during long nights such as these. Elliot had, too. I still struggled with certain responsibilities—part of me would always crave a future and a purpose far away from Norhavellis and its festering darkness—but I tried my best. After Eden’s death, we all tried our best. Our home and our duty was all we had left.

I shivered, crossing my arms to ward off the chill in the air. Besides, it wasn’t like I had much time left to help, anyhow. If my recent visions meant I was Corrupt or nearly there, my time was short. Splintered. Blurry. It was impossible to be useful if my mind was half-rotted by a demon.

I scanned the surrounding clearing, noting the weak torchlight. The flames ran precariously low, struggling to fight against the encroaching dark. I quietly gathered the materials I needed into a bucket, its handle as worn and as dented as the rocking chair, and positioned myself by the nearest torch. The flame wandered into life under my care, smoldering, glowing, then rising up to take a breath. It pushed into the darkness, defying the wind as its light filled the air.

I took a breath, too. Tried to squeeze all the darkness from my lungs.

Out of habit, my fingers threaded through the rising smoke. The warmth felt wonderful; cleansing, even. I eagerly stretched out my hands, closing my eyes as the smoke lapped against them.

Esmer.

Esmer.

Esmer.

Father didn’t move. The voice was inside my head.

I swore softly, hands shaking as I relit the next three torches. Maybe a demon had finally curled itself around my mind, sinking its claws nice and deep as it waited to claim territory upon my soul. Maybe it would be better if I just—

“Heya, ‘smer.” Elliot stepped from behind me, grinning sheepishly. Rather than wear a sweater, he had wrapped himself in a blanket. “Thought you looked kinda lonely out here, but it turns out you were talkin’ to yourself just fine.”

I lunged for him, pretending to be upset, but I couldn’t stop the smile that leapt to my face. The voice hadn’t been inside my head. It was Elliot all along.

He made a quick, dance-like spin, avoiding my hands. “This is how you repay me for helpin’, huh?”

“That’s the thing. I didn’t ask for your help,” I said, chuckling under my breath as I lit the next torch. It wouldn’t take long to finish, but I secretly welcomed his company. “But if you want to be useful, you can carry this bucket.”

A hand darted out from underneath his blanket, grabbed the bucket, then pulled it to his side. “Fine by me.”

We made quick work of the remaining torches, saving the farthest for last. I watched the smoke as it rose, threading through the lower branches of an oak tree, and threw my arm around Elliot’s blanketed shoulders. It was going to be okay.

I was okay.

“…help me…”

I inhaled sharply, whirling to meet the sound. Emerging from the forest and into the first ring of torchlight was a young man from the village. Thomas Radler halted, swaying like he was drunk, then fell to his knees with a whimper.

I ran to him.

The Radlers seldom showed up during visiting hours, and as far as I could remember, they never visited at night. They tended to keep to themselves and avoided interacting with us, making an appearance only when they needed to replenish their three-month stock of elixir. Strange that he’d be here—and stranger still that it was Thomas.

“Do you need more elixir?” I asked, kneeling next to him in the grass. I tried to mimic how my mother would approach this situation. What words would she say, and what would she do with her hands? “Or has your father fallen ill, perhaps? I can go inside and prepare whatever it is that you need—”

Thomas clutched the grass, steadying himself against the tremors moving through his body. I froze, noticing the discoloration on his knuckles. The feral curve to his back. The missing shoes. Something metallic and foul caused his full red hair, customarily brushed into an impeccable coif, to become matted and dripping.

Two smears of shadow stained the skin under his eyes.

Corruption .

 “Esmer. How pathetic of you to act like you care,” Thomas finally growled, lips peeling back in a savage grin. His teeth were red, stained bright by a cut splitting his lip. “You may be beautiful, but you’re rotten on the inside. Just like that terrible mother and father of yours. What a shame .”

Elliot cried out from somewhere behind me, his voice a strange, piercing warning.

I stood, stumbling backwards. “Elliot, run —wake Father—”

Thomas followed me, shaking his trembling limbs into stillness. “I’ve come hunting for you and your family.” I spun around, making to sprint to the house, but Thomas was faster. He grabbed my face, squeezing his fingers around my throat before I could even register the movement.

Fast—he was too fast .

“I’ve come for you, your imbecile brother, your rotten father, and your useless mother.” As he dug his nails into my skin, something warm dripped from his fingers and trailed into my nightgown. “I’d have one more to hunt, but she’s already dead .”

Thomas pinned me to the damp, rot-smelling ground as his fingernails pressed harder into my neck. I clawed at his face, kicked at his shins, but it was useless, useless —

“Let her go! ” Elliot screamed, slamming his bucket into the side of Thomas’s head.

Thomas’s bloodshot eyes widened. I expected him to fall over—any ordinary person would have been knocked unconscious by the blow—but he merely stood up, spat some blood from his mouth, and grabbed the blanket that had fallen from Elliot’s shoulders.

“Oh, Elliot. You were going to be last.”

Thomas threw Elliot to the ground, easily overpowering him, and pulled the blanket tight over his mouth and nose. I staggered to the nearest torch, head spinning and legs threatening to give out. Elliot was going to die. Elliot was going to die and this boy—this animal —would kill me next without hesitation. Then he’d move to Father, exhausted and weak on the porch. Lastly he’d find Mother, vulnerable in her bed and unaware of the horror her children were facing.

But first he’d kill Elliot.

I heaved the torch from the dirt, fighting to stay conscious even as my vision blurred. A half-crazed decision was rapidly forming in my mind, desperate to sink its claws in before fear took over and rendered me useless.

“Your mother and father damned us all,” Thomas hissed, stuffing part of the blanket into Elliot’s mouth and wrenching his arm away when he tried to pull it free. “Damned you, too.”

But first he’d kill Elliot.

The sound I made was unlike anything I’d ever heard. Raw, furious, primal . It propelled me forward as I raised the torch and swung it hard at Thomas’s face. I hit him again, this time lighting his cloak on fire. He immediately fell to the side, rolling in the dirt and as he fought to remove his cloak, but the fire was quicker.

“How could you?” Thomas suddenly said, voice breaking and stumbling into sobs as the fire hissed around his ears. Hatred and revulsion twisted his face, but his eyes betrayed raw, searing pain. “You lied to us. You made us believe. My mother—now I—”

Elliot cried in my arms, utterly horrified. I might have been crying, too, but I barely felt it. My vision was almost entirely dark, but I needed to get Elliot inside. I needed to wake Father—

“Esmer,” Thomas moaned, kneeling while the flames ate at his body. “No. Did I—? What am I—?”

A whistle thrummed through the air.

A single arrow slammed into Thomas’s chest with a wet, crunching thunk . His hands brushed against it, trembling, grazing the blood leaking from his chest. A second arrow hit, pinning itself into the soft flesh of skin between his left arm and collarbone.

Dawn was hours away, and the stars should have been bright and burning.

But darkness, leaking in through the trees, swallowed them all.